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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082103">One Man's Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright'>firefright</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra'>Skalidra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chained and Bound [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Conditioning, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Ownership, Slavery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:02:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now captured, Dick's trials are only just beginning when he finally leaves the interrogation chambers of the Core's police force and finds himself being taken to the home of an Elite, rather than straight to a firing squad. And, of course, with his current luck, it's the home of the very last Elite he wants to see, who has in store a fate for him far worse than death. Dick's only consolation is that it means he gets to see Jason again, though even that comes with its own set of painful drawbacks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chained and Bound [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One Man's Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey all. Here's more of this terrible, but fun, AU about slavery and Slade being far too good at his job (as always). Hope you enjoy XD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s in their cells for a week.</p><p>At least, Dick thinks it’s a week. There are no windows for him to watch the passage of the sun here, and the artificial lighting goes on and off at the whims of the officers interrogating him. There are hours of painful brightness, followed by pitch black, with no rhyme or reason to them other than to try and drive him crazy, it seems. To try and make him <em>break</em>. Which alongside the beatings and the occasional blasts of sound played through the speakers to deafen him, sometimes feels like a very near thing indeed.</p><p>Where is your organisation based? they ask him. Where did they take the slaves you stole? Who helped you gain access to the auction? Who is your contact in the Core?</p><p>The questions come over and over again. Sometimes in cruel demanding tones given emphasis by the application of a taser, sometimes in gentler, kinder voices, telling him he should make it easier on himself and cooperate if he wants to live.</p><p>Dick keeps mum throughout all of it. No matter what, he won’t betray his cohort or their cause. Not even at the cost of his own life.</p><p>He’s a mess by the end. A wall of bruises and cuts in human form, half-starved and sickly from their treatment. He can barely see out of his left eye, and his bottom lip is fat and swollen. His right hand… he’s fairly sure he’s got broken fingers there, along with some cracked ribs down either side of his chest.</p><p>It doesn’t matter, though, he won’t talk. No matter what they do, they can’t hurt him more than he’s already hurt himself.</p><p><em>Jason.</em> Every second he’s not being tortured or yelled at, his mind wanders back to his partner, the man he was supposed to support and protect. The man who, for the cost of others’ freedom, he let be taken back by his former master.</p><p>God damned Slade Wilson, he wasn’t supposed to be there. He shouldn’t have been there. Dick would do anything to be able to wring the man’s neck. The sight he’d seen when he’d opened the door to that room, Jason naked and knelt at the bastard’s feet like the kind of pet all Elites viewed slaves as…</p><p>He feels sick to his stomach every time he thinks about it. Especially knowing that at some point the officers here will get tired of trying to get information out of him, upon which point, there’ll probably be a firing squad followed by liquidation for his body. All his friends, the other Emancipators… he’ll never see them again, and as for Jason…</p><p>It’ll be like they never got him free at all.</p><p>Which is why it’s such a surprise when the day comes that he’s dragged from the cell and not to the usual interrogation room, but down hallways and outside to a waiting ship instead.</p><p>“What is this?” he asks one of the guards escorting him. “Where are we going?”</p><p>In response, the man cuffs him sharply about the head. “Be quiet. You’re lucky you’ve got someone with deep pockets out there interested in you.”</p><p>Deep pockets? Dick thinks, his heart skipping a beat for a moment. <em>Bruce?</em></p><p>“I don’t get it,” the other guard grunts as they get strapped in. “Thieves like him ought to be shot.”</p><p>“I guess he was pretty enough when they first brought him in.” the first concedes. “But then again, I’ve seen plenty far prettier.”</p><p>“There’s no understanding the minds of Elites.”</p><p>“True enough, that.”</p><p>Dick’s mind is racing. His heart thudding in his chest. He wants to ask more, but before he can, the first speaker jolts with the motion of a man suddenly remembering a neglected duty, stands up, and shoves a fabric bag over his head, neatly cutting Dick off from both sight and sound.</p><p>Well, it’s not like they would have answered his questions anyway.</p><p>He sits uncomfortably for what might be two hours, maybe three. With all his senses bar touch taken from him, Dick is reduced to feeling every aching pain in his body alongside the thrum of the ship’s engines. His palms sweat and his breath stinks within the hood, since they never once allowed him even to brush his teeth while they held him, and of course, his mind is set to racing. Dwelling once again on the mistakes of his failed mission, as well as the new pressing worry about where he’s going next.</p><p>An Elite…</p><p>Finally, the ship comes to a stop, and Dick is pulled up from his seat — still blindfolded — and out of it.</p><p>The air is warm wherever they are. Dick tries not to stumble as he pulled along by his cuffed hands, first through what must be some outside space judging by the light breeze that tickles his skin, then into whatever place he’s being taken. There are twists and turns. Stairs that he trips over and almost collapses down. Then, eventually, they stop.</p><p>He’s shoved to his knees, and though he tries to lift himself back up, he’s quickly stopped by his cuffs being attached to something on the floor. Something too strong for him to yank free of, which he discovers after just a couple attempts at doing just that.</p><p>Then he’s left again. Left kneeling and aching and waiting for whatever his fate is going to be.</p><p><em>Just kill me</em>, he thinks. Almost wants to say out loud, for all the good it would do. <em>Just kill me you monstrous—</em></p><p>The bag is pulled from his head.</p><p>Dick spends the first few seconds after its removal blind, as the sudden influx of light after hours of being in darkness brings pained tears to his eyes. Once he’s blinked them away, however, he’s able to look back up again, into the face of one of the last men he ever wanted to see.</p><p>“<em>You!</em>” Dick hisses, baring his teeth on automatic.</p><p>Slade Wilson stands a bare pace away from him. Just out of spitting distance, Dick’s mind calculates, not that that stops him from making the attempt anyway. It lands pathetically short, of course, probably thanks to his busted lip, but the gesture alone is enough to make him feel a little better at least.</p><p>“Where’s Jason?” he asks — no, <em>demands</em> next.</p><p>Wilson doesn’t answer him. Not immediately anyway. Instead, he looks over Dick, gaze cool and focused, as if dissecting him with his eyes alone.</p><p>“Richard Grayson,” he eventually says, “That’s right, isn’t it?”</p><p>Dick stares at him, then clenches his jaw, ignoring the pain from what might be a cracked tooth. “I asked you a question first.”</p><p>Wilson cocks his head, looking amused. “You seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of how this works. You lost your right to ask questions the day you broke the law.”</p><p>“The law is unjust. Human beings aren’t property.” Dick glares back. “Where’s Jason?”</p><p>“Your name is Richard Grayson, yes or no?”</p><p>Dick’s teeth grind together. “Fuck you.”</p><p>“Hm,” Wilson’s eyes narrow. “I can see you’re going to be a challenge. Good. He said you have spirit.”</p><p>“Let me out of these cuffs and I’ll show you exactly how much of a challenge I can be.” Dick says, pulling at them again. No points for guessing who Slade means by ‘He’. The oblique reference to Jason has his blood boiling all the higher.</p><p>“Perhaps another time.” Wilson regards him thoughtfully. “You’re already roughed up enough as it is. I don’t relish the chance of inflicting any <em>permanent</em> damage upon my property.”</p><p>Property.</p><p>Dick’s eyes (at least his right one) go wide.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>The things the guards on the ship said. The fact he’s still alive at all. The fact that Wilson had him brought here…</p><p>He’s not stupid. He’s not—</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>“No? No is not a word you get the pleasure of using anymore, <em>Richard</em>.” Stepping further back, Slade takes a seat in an elegant wingback chair on the other side of the room. “At least in terms of telling me what I can and cannot do with you. I paid rather a lot of money in order to save you from the gallows. Called in a fair few favours, too. I intend to get a return on my investment.”</p><p>Belatedly, Dick realises that he’s shaking. Far worse than he ever did while being beaten and interrogated by those fascist oafs the Core call a police force.</p><p>“I’m an Emancipator.” he says, still disbelieving. “I’ve spent my whole life fighting back against slavery. Freeing slaves. What on earth makes you think you can… I’ll never obey you!”</p><p>“Never?” Wilson’s mouth curls higher, “Never is a very long time, Richard. And as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m very good at what I do. True, you’re a little old for starting training — you’ll never be worth selling. But I’m certain I can make something useful out of you. More useful than a corpse, anyway.”</p><p>“Why?” he demands again. “Why the fuck would you want <em>me</em>? Why—” Dick cuts off in sudden, cold realisation. “Jason...”</p><p>“Hm, so there is some intelligence in there.” Wilson folds his hands together in his lap, his gaze calculating once more. “I think I’m starting to see a little more what makes him so… taken, with you.”</p><p>“If you think you can use me against him—”</p><p>“Please,” Wilson scoffs. “Jason will obey me regardless of whether or not I have you to hand. He’s a good boy like that, no matter how much you and your ilk tried to corrupt him. Your presence here isn’t a matter of control, just plain interest. You might do well to remember that, if you wish to keep on living in the future.”</p><p>Dick draws in breath to spit and curse at him once more, only to stop when Wilson draws something out from the inside of his jacket. It’s a circular band of metal, plain steel, except for where a catch and hinge are built into it.</p><p>A collar. It’s a fucking collar.</p><p>“Try to put that on me,” he says, “and I’ll bite you.”</p><p>“Oh don’t worry, pet,” Wilson says, turning it over in his hands absently. “I’m not the one who’s going to put it on.” He taps something on his wrist, a communicator maybe, that Dick can’t quite make out through his swollen eye. “And ah, yes, one last thing before we really get down to it. From now on, you call me ‘master’ or ‘sir’. Anything else will only bring you punishment, am I clear?”</p><p>Dick draws himself up as much as he’s able, doing his very best to look Wilson in the eye. “Fuck you.”</p><p>Wilson’s only answer is a low chuckle, before the door to the room opens and he turns his gaze towards it, instead.</p><p>“There you are, pet.” The low rumble of his voice turns warm and gentle in a way that Dick never would have imagined him being capable of a moment ago. “Do you have everything I asked you to fetch? Ah, of course you do. I always know I can count on you.”</p><p>Dick turns his head to look too, and what he sees standing there in the doorway takes his breath away.</p><p>Jason looks nothing at all like he did the last time Dick saw him. Naked, wrapped in Wilson’s jacket, with his eyes wet from tears as he was forced to stand between the man and the gun Dick was pointing at him. Now his expression is calm, bordering on placid, even when he looks towards Dick. He’s barefoot still, but he has other clothes on — if you can, in fact, call them clothes: black, form-fitting leggings and a sleeveless panelled shirt of silk and sheer mesh that offers tantalising glimpses of the skin beneath. He’s clean-shaven, while his hair is combed back tidily from his face, and around his neck…</p><p>The collar Jason wears is nothing at all like the plain one Wilson holds ready for Dick. It’s made of some kind of black metal, twisted into an elegant shape and highly polished. There’s a stone at the center of it too, hanging directly over Jason’s throat. Ruby or garnet, Dick’s not sure which. But he does know that’s the kind of collar an owner would only give to a favoured slave, not a disgraced one.</p><p>“Jay,” he whispers hoarsely, and for a moment he swears he sees Jason’s throat bob in a nervous swallow before Wilson talks over him.</p><p>“Come here, sweet boy. I have another task for you before you get started.”</p><p>Jason turns at once, stepping without any hesitation towards where Wilson is sitting. Dick only notices now the case held in his hands, wide and green, with the familiar white cross on top to indicate a medkit.</p><p>“Sir?” Jason says quietly, kneeling in front of him.</p><p>Dick’s blood boils again as Wilson reaches out and places a hand on his head, brushing back Jason’s hair the same way one would pet a dog. Even worse is the way Jason closes his eyes at the touch, leaning closer into it.</p><p>“Your friend needs a collar, pet, now that he’s to be staying with us.” A light tug at Jason’s hair gets him to open his eyes again, looking at where Wilson now holds the collar in front of his face. “Put it on him for me. Then you can start attending to his wounds.”</p><p>Jason pauses briefly, staring at it, then he adjusts his grip on the medkit so that he can take the collar from Wilson as well. “Of course, sir.”</p><p>“Good boy.” Wilson hums, stroking his hair again before letting him go.</p><p>Dick leans back against the chain holding him to the floor as Jason regains his feet, then pads lightly across the floor towards him. He can’t get far, there’s still no way to get his wrists away from the floor, and so all he can do is try and shift backwards. A movement that only gains him a few extra inches of distance from where he started, and even that much hurts.</p><p>“Jason,” he pleads, as Jason sinks down to his knees next to him, “Don’t. You don’t have to do this.”</p><p>There’s definitely <em>something </em>in Jason’s expression, but Dick can't identify it before it's gone. He knows that expression; even, relatively shallow breaths, blank eyes that don't fully focus on anything. He always used to call it 'blanking,' but he knows where it came from. He doesn't believe in slavery, but he's fought it all his life; he knows the behaviors.</p><p>He cringes at the clack of the medkit being set down, both of Jason's hands grasping the collar and hinging it open so it looks like some kind of awful mouth.</p><p>If it were Slade, he'd… But it's not. It's Jason's hands coming forward, and he doesn't want this, he doesn't— But he <em>can't </em>bring himself to hurt Jason, not even here, not even like this.</p><p>He closes his eyes and draws as tense as his wounds will allow, tucking his head down against his shoulder. It's not going to do anything, it's not enough to stop the metal sliding around his throat, fingers brushing his skin and closing it with a <em>click</em> that sounds as loud as a gunshot to his ears. Dick knows the style of collar, too. It can be overloaded, if you can get at the clasp with the right equipment, but it's meant to only be opened remotely. It— It <em>won't</em> open, not to anyone that doesn't have access to the system and the right codes. He knows exactly who has all of that.</p><p>"There. That's not so bad, is it?" Dick cracks his eyes back open, peering over Jason's shoulder towards where Slade's sitting. "It looks good on you, boy. A more decorative one would suit you better, but this will have to do for now. We'll see how things go.”</p><p>"Go to hell," he grits out, trying not to dwell on that thought. Being dressed up like some… some <em>doll</em>.</p><p>Slade only smirks, amused if he's anything at all. "Yes, I know." Dick flinches back as he stands, but he doesn't advance. "Jason, come to me when you're done. Take as much time as you need to do it right."</p><p>"Sir?" Jason says as he twists, like it's natural, like the word isn't one Dick's watched him struggle to cut out of his vocabulary for years.</p><p>Slade arches an eyebrow. "Yes?"</p><p>"A lot of this is beyond what I know how to fix, Master."</p><p>Slade moves forward, and Dick almost gathers himself to spit again except that Slade puts Jason right between them, a hand coming to rest in his hair. "I know, boy. Good that you made sure, though. Well done."</p><p>Dick <em>hates</em> the way Jason visibly relaxes a little bit when Slade says that. <em>Hates</em> the heavy exhale and the minor lean backwards, into the touch of Slade's hand. Conditioning. <em>Brainwashing</em>. The mix of dehumanization and praise is sickening; he's studied these strategies, but seeing them in person is…</p><p>"Clean him up, and do what you can. A medic will be along in an hour or so to tend to the rest."</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>Slade ruffles Jason’s hair lightly, and steps away. A few strides has him at the door, which opens with a press of his hand against the panel at its side, and then he's gone. The door shuts, and there's silence, just the quiet clicks of Jason opening the medkit on the steel floor under them to disrupt it.</p><p>Dick's gaze shifts back to Jason, looking at the skin the shirt reveals, his wrists, his neck. There's nothing. No injuries, no bruises, nothing. Like Jason didn't even fight.</p><p>"Jason? Are you okay?"</p><p>For the first time, Jason's gaze meets his. There's a pause, his hands still moving, pulling what look like wipes from inside the kit. Then he exhales and looks away. "Yeah, I'm okay."</p><p>One wipe comes free from the rest, and Jason takes his chin in one hand and holds it still while he brings it up to his face. It stings, makes him flinch, but Jason's grip is firm enough that it won't let him pull away. Dick's been hurt enough times, over the years, that he knows what a disinfectant wipe feels like; it still hurts, though.</p><p>It's strange, he'd thought about having Jason's hands on him but... not like this. The idea that they might be caught was a possibility that they'd both had to accept, but nowhere in that potential future was there ever supposed to be something like this. Escaped slaves were put down, and Emancipators usually met the same fate, if they weren't killed on the spot, or by 'accident' in an interrogation cell. The idea that an Elite might take back a slave gone for half a decade, and buy a criminal off the executioner's block to boot, is so ridiculous Dick probably would have laughed in the face of whoever came up with it.</p><p>The only thing that means, in hindsight, is that he had no idea who Jason's old master really was. He thought Slade Wilson was just another trainer. A good one, but nothing else.</p><p>"Jason… I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't—" He tries to reach for Jason's closer leg, but the cuffs draw tight and he can't quite reach. The movement draws a flick of Jason's gaze, but nothing else. "We should have run. We could have—"</p><p>"Dick," Jason cuts him off with, and there's clearly more but he just inhales and shakes his head. "You don't have anything to apologize for."</p><p>"I don't…? Jason, I'm the reason you're here! I'm the reason that son of a bitch has his hands on you again! He—"</p><p>Jason goes rigid the second the insult leaves his mouth, and the sudden tension cuts Dick off before any more of the tirade can come out. He blinks, stares as Jason very slowly exhales and then shifts back into motion. His shoulders are still tight and his movements stiff, but he doesn't seem to actually be about to say anything. More like he's bracing for a hit.</p><p>"Jason?" he asks, a little cautiously. "Are you okay?"</p><p>The wipe is pulled back from his face, folded over so the pink-ish smears of his blood are hidden on the inside. "I'm fine."</p><p>He's not relaxing, though.</p><p>"You're obviously not," Dick points out, wincing as Jason gently cleans around his worse-off eye. "Jay, come on, talk to me." It's a sudden swell of bitterness that makes him add, "You're allowed to do that, aren't you?"</p><p>Jason takes another deep breath, and for just a second it actually sounds like him. It’s exactly the kind of deep, restraining breath he’d take when he was resisting yelling at someone, or telling them off. “Yes, I’m <em>allowed</em>. Listening to you get yourself in trouble isn’t my favorite thing, but—” He takes another deep breath, still focused on his wounds and not actually looking him in the eye. “Our master didn’t tell me otherwise, so your behavior isn’t my fault, and it’s not my responsibility to fix it.”</p><p>“My… My <em>behavior?</em>” Dick echoes, unbelieving. “Jason, I’m not a slave. You’re not one either!”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound angry. “I <em>am</em> a slave, and he’s my master. Yours too.”</p><p>“No! You’re not! You’re a human, with thoughts, and feelings, and—”</p><p>“It’s not one or the other, Dick.” Jason pushes his chin up, wiping down the length of his neck with broader swipes. “I know you’re pissed off and in shock right now, but you’ll get it. You’ll learn; he’s fair.”</p><p>Dick grits his teeth, using the flash of pain that slices through his jaw to ground himself before he jerks away. He has to gasp in a breath to combat the rush of dizziness the movement causes, teeters and almost falls over before he manages to catch himself, but it gets him away from Jason’s touch and the horror of how calmly he says everything. Like it doesn’t even <em>matter </em>that he spent five years of his life trying to be free, just to get dragged back down into all of it by the sadistic bastard that broke him to begin with. Like he thinks Dick's going to just… just calm down and accept it all.</p><p>“Dick—”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Dick snarls, tugging uselessly against the cuffs. “None of this is <em>fair</em>, Jason! He’s a sadistic son of a bitch that spends his time breaking people, and the only reason he gets to do that is because of some genetic tinkering before he was even born! You know that! We all know that! He’s not fair, Jay, he’s torturing you! Brainwashing you!”</p><p>Jason exhales and looks away to discard the wipe, settling back on his heels. “Okay.”</p><p>There’s no fight to it. It leaves Dick feeling wrongfooted again, staring as Jason rifles through the medkit, trying to find something that he evidently doesn’t, because all that he pulls out is a second wipe and a few small bandages that were near the top. It’s nothing like what he’s used to from Jason. There were times he’d shy back, or agree to something that he clearly didn’t like, but it was always grudging. Always tinged with an anger that spoke clearly to how Jason <em>knew </em>it was a behavior created by his past, but just couldn’t help it. Now there’s none of that.</p><p>“I don’t have anything to get that off of you,” Jason says, with a nod towards the one-piece prison suit they’d manhandled him into when he was first taken, “so I’ll do your hands and whatever I can reach of your back under the zipper and that’s going to have to be it.”</p><p>Dick flinches back from the hands that head for his face, but Jason follows, cupping the back of his head and holding him still. “Jason…” he pleads, the anger lost under the desperation, under just wanting to see his <em>friend </em>again. “What did he <em>do </em>to you?”</p><p>Jason’s fingers press one of the little bandaids to his face, just above the eyebrow on the swollen side. He must have a cut; he didn’t even know. “Nothing that I didn’t deserve. Nothing more than I could handle.”</p><p>“What does that mean? Did he hurt you? Beat you? Jason, please. I’ve been so worried about you. Ever since they caught me all I could think about was—”</p><p>“You don’t have to worry about me.” Jason says, a little harsher, and that at least feels familiar. Jason always was very good at deflecting concern. “It was punishment, nothing more. Like I said, I deserved it.”</p><p>“Punishment…” Dick repeats. “For what? Jason, you’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing that deserves you being hurt by him. You can’t believe that.”</p><p>“Yes, I did.” Jason says, and now he swallows thickly as he withdraws his hand. Clinical as the touch was in the moment, Dick misses it the second it’s gone. It’s been so long since he was last touched with anything but the intention to harm. “I lied to my master. I tried to pretend I’m something I’m not. If I'd done what I should have when I saw him again, I wouldn't have needed to be punished.”</p><p>Dick’s not sure he actually wants to know, but he can’t help asking, “What you should have done…?”</p><p>“Turned myself in,” he offers immediately. “I should have confessed, given myself instead of forcing my master to trap me.” Jason exhales, picking out another of the wipes from inside the kit and reaching for one of his hands. “He’s kinder than most masters, Dick. You can’t see it, but it’s true. He doesn’t punish for anything but willful disobedience, and that’s a lot better than you’ll get in most places. When I was a kid…”</p><p>Jason trails off, gaze trained down towards his hands, the wipe probably as gentle as it can be as it passes over his fingers, though it’s still enough to make his eyes water. He doesn’t think he wants to hear whatever Jason was about to say, but also he <em>does</em>. Jason only very rarely talked about anything from before they rescued him; his understanding of Jason’s past is more guesswork and theories than fact. It doesn’t matter what Dick wants, anyway; he's not fast enough in saying something, so Jason clears his throat and continues.</p><p>“When I was a kid,” he begins again, “I wanted to stay here forever. I worked as hard as he wanted, doing whatever he wanted me to do, for just the chance that he might decide to keep me. Life here was so much better than anything else I’d seen, and I didn’t want to be sold to anyone else. I was convinced that no one else would ever match up to him. And now, seeing what I have, and working with all of you…” Jason shakes his head slightly, glancing up. “There are a lot of terrible masters out there, but I think any slave would be lucky to serve under Master Wilson.”</p><p>"Jason…" Dick flounders, unable to find words to express the terrible mix of pity, anger, and horror that feels like water closing over his head.</p><p>Jason moves onto his right hand, and Dick's breath catches at the jostling of what he's still pretty sure are broken fingers. He's broken a few bones over the years, but fingers are a first.</p><p>"Sorry," Jason offers, but he continues anyway, though with maybe a bit lighter of a touch. Luckily it doesn't take long; his hands may have been brutalized, but they weren't cut, so there's only the grime to clean away.</p><p>He tenses a bit when Jason shifts around him, resettling at his back, but the hands that touch the back of his neck are gentle. The zipper comes down slowly, along the length of his spine. Dick shivers more at being bared than at the chill of the room. It makes his ribs ache, some, but it fades into the background pain of all the rest of his injuries. His senses focus instead on the warm brush of Jason's fingers along his skin, next to the wide swipes of colder wetness from the antiseptic wipe. This isn't how he wanted Jason to touch him, but there's a small part of him that fixates on it anyway, uncaring of the circumstances behind those hands finally being on him. It's easier than it should be to close his eyes and sink into that touch, clinging to the idea of being back home instead of in this cell, Jason touching him because he <em>wants </em>to, and not on the order of some sociopathic Elite.</p><p>It's a moment of fantasy quickly ruined by Jason saying, "I know you don't… you don't understand how I can be… this. I know you think you're helping, but…" There's a slow inhalation of breath at his back, and the hands withdraw to pull the zipper back up. When they get there, they rest at his neck for just a moment. Jason's voice is low, when he murmurs, "Maybe it would have changed, someday. Maybe I could have been what you wanted. But I'm not, Dick. And maybe you'll hate me for even saying this, but… I've never felt safer, or happier, than when I was here."</p><p>It feels like one of those tasers to the gut. He can't find the breath to answer, not in response to the words, not when Jason pulls away from him and stands, moving around him with the kit back in one hand. He just stares, helpless and drowning on all the fragments of words he can't put together into anything coherent.</p><p>"I'm sorry you're here," Jason says, gaze fixed on the ground somewhere to his right. "I wish that you'd left me, back at the auction. I'm sorry trying to rescue me got you caught." Dick can see the way he breathes in and straightens, gaze finally turning to meet his. "But I'm not sorry to be back. This is home; it always was." There's a little flicker of a humorless smile, and a shrug. "Sorry for that too, I guess."</p><p>There's a moment of pause, like maybe Jason is expecting him to respond, but the words are no more forthcoming now than they were before.</p><p>Jason turns away. His free hand presses to the panel by the door, and it chimes and slides open to let him leave. And he's gone, just like that.</p><p>Dick kneels where he's been left, feeling the ghost of Jason's hands on his back in sharp counterpoint to the uncomfortable press of the steel around his throat. The tears are impossible to stop.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason has to steady himself outside of the door, breathe in and out and try and get rid of the tight, faintly nauseous curl of his gut. Only after his hands stop threatening to shake can he inhale, straighten up, and head for his master's study. The hallways are as familiar now as they used to be when he was small; not much has changed, and it was only disorienting seeing them from such a different height for the first few days. He's lucky that he's been allowed to walk them at all. He's lucky that Slade even took him back, for that matter.</p><p>An escaped slave… He remembers the training house he was in before Slade bought him, and what they did to slaves that tried to escape, there. Being caught meant a flayed back, or the pretty ones sometimes had their Achilles tendons cut; reduced to dolls or pets, no chance of ever running again. Jason remembers he had nightmares even a couple years after being freed that it would happen to him. They'd catch him, put him under, and all those young slaves would learn through his suffering what the price of that kind of disobedience was.</p><p>Slade made it clear enough when he returned, though. His punishments were only for the choices he made, not for what others forced on him. He was taken, manipulated and misled. Slade lays the blame for his 'freedom' at the hands of the thieves that took him; it wasn't his responsibility to defend himself any more than he tried to.</p><p>That fact hasn't stopped him feeling guilty. Ashamed.</p><p>He straightens his back the last inch before knocking at the door of his master's study. It slides aside nearly immediately, allowing him to slip inside before it begins to shut. Slade is at his desk, leant back into his chair, gaze fixed on the screens before him. There's no acknowledgement of his entry, so Jason takes the kit and moves as soundlessly as he can to the other side of the room, setting it on top of the cabinet it was originally taken from and flipping it open.</p><p>The trash, he places in the small receptacle to the side, to be ferried off to the disposal unit and incinerated whenever the next time comes. Then he kneels and opens the doors, carefully picking out replacements for what he used.</p><p>"When you're finished," comes his master's voice, prompting him to quickly glance over, "come here, boy." Slade hasn't turned to look at him, but that doesn't mean anything.</p><p>"Yes, sir," he's quick to answer, as he should.</p><p>He doesn't rush restocking the kit; that was one of the first things that Slade taught him, as a boy. If something's been ordered, do it right. Better to be a little late than to do a hasty, poorly done job that someone else will just have to fix later on. He takes his time, making sure every piece is put back exactly as he found it, before closing to the cabinet and only then moving to kneel beside his master’s chair.</p><p>Slade doesn’t acknowledge him right away, which Jason isn’t surprised by. Slaves wait on their masters, not the other way around. However long it takes Slade to finish whatever it is he’s working on, he’ll endure.</p><p>Even if he does find himself fighting the unpleasant urge to try and look at the computer screens the entire time. An unfortunate holdover from his time as a free man. Nothing on it is his business, but knowing that doesn't stop the paranoid parts of his brain from wanting to look.</p><p>It could be something about him. Or, more pressingly, Dick. It could be—</p><p>A large hand settles into his hair. Without hesitation, Jason leans forward into the touch, sighing quietly as Slade’s thick fingers comb back the loose curls over his forehead.</p><p>“So, tell me,” his master says. “How was he after I left?”</p><p>Jason swallows before answering, thinking over his words. How to summarise the gut-punching reaction he’d gotten when crushing Dick’s hopes, while also hiding how much it had broken his own heart at the same time. “Difficult.” is what he finally settles on. “He tried to get me to help him escape. Couldn’t understand how I could be happy to be back with you instead of fighting it.”</p><p>Slade hums thoughtfully. “As expected. Did he still allow you to do your work?”</p><p>Jason nods stiffly. “Yes, sir. As much as was in my knowledge to do.”</p><p>“Good. I’ll see what the medic says about the rest once he’s done with him.” Those big fingers slip from his hair down to his cheek. “And what about you, Jason? How are you feeling now?”</p><p>“I…” <em>Honesty</em>, he remembers. Honesty is what’s most important. Everything else can be understood or forgiven, eventually, but lying will only ever earn disappointment. “I wish I hadn’t had to tell him that. It hurt. I still…”</p><p>“Still want him. Still care for him.” Slade fills in. “It’s all right, pet. I’m not angry with you for it. It'll take time to let go of all those things they put in your head; as long as you try your best, you know I won't ask for more.”</p><p>He exhales, leans into the brush of fingers over his jaw. "Thank you, sir."</p><p>It wasn't a lie. None of it. Jason wishes he could say that it was, but as much as it sickens and scares (and relieves) him, every word was the truth. As much energy as he spent fighting what he was made into, it didn’t change anything. This is what he is, no matter how much anyone else wishes he was something else. He can pretend, but that’s all it’s ever going to be. Pretending. He’s so tired of pretending.</p><p>“Speaking of that, come up here, boy. I have something to tell you.”</p><p>His heart warms and jumps to his throat all at once, but Jason gets to his feet without allowing any of that to stop him. A hand takes his wrist and guides him to the front of the chair and then tugs briefly in the direction of his master’s lap. Given no instruction to turn around, he carefully places one knee in the gap between Slade’s thigh and the chair’s arm, lifting a hand to brace lightly against the back of the chair over Slade’s shoulder as he lifts the other leg to settle into place. It’s different than when he was a kid; not nearly so wide a stretch for his legs, and sitting like this, he’s even with his master’s face, not still dwarfed by the size of him. A lot of things like that are different, now.</p><p>His hands come together behind his back, spine straightening, head lifted but eyes down. It feels more natural than anything the Emancipators tried to teach him.</p><p>Slade’s gaze slides over him with all the unhurried deliberation he remembers, stopping to linger on one of his thighs. The weight of his gaze is joined by a palm, settling its breadth across the width of his leg; it doesn’t dwarf it nearly as much as he expects.</p><p>“You did get big, didn’t you?” his master comments, hand squeezing down lightly. “It’s probably good I never had the chance to sell you. My peers can be very petty about any other class of citizen reaching the same heights as them; it would have been a shame to have any of them try and ‘fix’ you.”</p><p>He’s got no idea how that could be managed, but he tries not to think about it. He’s heard of Elites doing… strange things, to slaves. Odd surgeries, to make them into whatever the owner desires. Jason doubts it would have been outside the realm of medical advancement to somehow force him to be shorter.</p><p>“Yes, sir.” he says, responding to the question that was asked of him. Possibly it was meant to be rhetorical, but it’s always better to be safe with these things. As to the rest… that definitely does not seem like anything that needs his agreement. Or even his acknowledgement, come to think of it.</p><p>Slade doesn’t seem displeased either way, as the hand that’s not on his thigh moves to his throat. Jason feels the red jewel hanging from his current collar be taken and twisted between his master’s fingers.</p><p>“Thankfully, I have no such issues with height in my slaves.” Slade’s lips curl up in a smile, and he actually looks directly in Jason’s eyes when he says, “I’ve decided to keep you, boy.”</p><p>Jason stares back at him. For a moment, he can’t quite believe his ears.</p><p>Keep him? Slade wants to—</p><p>“Really?” is what slips free of his mouth, impulsive and improper.</p><p>“Have you ever known me to lie to you before, Jason?” Slade’s response is both a confirmation and rebuke. Jason blushes hard at both. “Yes, really.”</p><p>It feels slightly unreal that he was just voicing his childhood wish to Dick and now it’s happening. He’s going to stay. With <em>Slade</em>. With a master who’s kind and dependable. Who is never cruel just for the sake of it. One who actually values his slaves, and doesn’t just…</p><p>“<em>Thank you!</em>” Jason can’t disguise the open enthusiasm in his voice. Behind his back, his hands ache with the urge to reach forward and grab onto Slade with the force of it. “Thank you, Master. I promise, I’ll serve you well. I won’t disappoint you!”</p><p>“Of course you won’t, pet.” Slade chuckles lightly, and his hand slides up from Jason’s collar to cup his face. “That’s why I made the decision. I don’t want to see your potential wasted on an unworthy master. And here with me, I know you can flourish.”</p><p>Jason, trembling, leans into the touch.</p><p>Still smiling, Slade draws him in further. Close enough that he can press a whiskery kiss against Jason’s brow, before encouraging him to rest his head down against his shoulder. “And I could use your help with Grayson. An experienced slave whose example he can follow will help ease him into this life much quicker. Especially if it’s you.”</p><p>Jason closes his eyes at the reminder. And also the warmth of his master’s skin through his shirt. “Sir, can I… may I ask a question?”</p><p>Slade’s chin comes to rest on top of Jason’s hair. The hand on his thigh remains where it is, while the other moves itself to Jason’s back, rubbing small circles over his spine. “You may.”</p><p>“Dick… Do you mean to keep him, too?”</p><p>He doesn’t mean right now, or for the immediate future. He means the same as Slade implies with him—a permanent arrangement. A collar with no fastening, that will never be removed. Not even upon death.</p><p>“Hm.” Slade’s hand slides a little higher up his thigh. “That depends on him. There’s no way I’ll be able to sell him on. At his age and with his history, no buyer would ever trust him to stay obedient, even with my reputation behind the sale. So if he accepts his fate and cooperates, yes, I will keep him. Otherwise…”</p><p>Jason swallows thickly. He doesn’t need Slade to finish that sentence. There’s only one other fate awaiting Dick if their master can’t make a slave worth keeping out of him.</p><p>“I’ll show him how, sir,” he whispers, even as he knows he’s supposed to be shedding this attachment he feels to Dick. And that Dick, independent as he is, might actually prefer death to the fate Slade has decided for him. “I swear, I won’t let you down.”</p><p>"Don't make promises for others, boy," Slade corrects, with a lower note of warning. "Or ones you may not be able to keep. You'll have plenty of your own to learn in the coming weeks; now that you're staying, I'll be fine-tuning what I've taught you, to suit my own tastes. For now, I don't want you focused on anything but that. Leave his managing to me. Understood?"</p><p>Jason flushes hard. “Yes, sir.” Barely two minutes after Slade told him he’ll be keeping him and he’s already messing up. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I know you are, pet.” Slade’s voice softens slightly again. “But this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re still raw, and I won’t allow you to be anything less than perfect before I widen your duties outside of myself.”</p><p>With a simple light tug, he guides Jason’s hands out from behind his back and sets them instead to his chest.</p><p>Jason's mind goes somewhat blank in response. Both at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture and the feeling of hard muscle beneath his hands. That his master was once military is a fact he’s always known, but to actually feel the evidence of it is something else entirely. It makes him wonder suddenly at just what Slade meant by ‘fine-tuning’ his training to suit his own tastes. Especially when he…</p><p>Dick wasn’t the first man to ever catch his eye before, even if he has been the only one to hold it, and so the thought that Slade might want him to service him that way isn’t as unpleasant as it could be. It's what most slaves do, anyway. At least, personal ones. It had always been an implicit part of his training that service to a master meant any kind they wanted, regardless of whether that was what he wanted, or even the direction he leaned, or the kinks… At least he knows, now, that men are something he's attracted to. If his master wants that from him.</p><p>Maybe it'll be nice.</p><p>Slade’s hands are gentle as they resume petting him. “I still have some work to do here, but when I’m finished, we’ll be going to see a craftsman about the design of your final collar. Stay still and quiet for me until then.”</p><p>Staying still and quiet is the worst order to receive when all of Jason wants to shiver in response to that news, but for his master he’ll do it. He’ll do anything.</p><p>He only hopes that one day soon Dick will learn to do the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://skalidra.tumblr.com/">Skali's tumblr</a>
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